by Lola White
Daniel’s jaw firmed. “That would be a mistake, Graves. Show your hospitality.”
“Why bother? The betrothal can’t be undone.”
“You’ve refused to seal it with blood, so he could refuse to allow it to stand. As Father, he has the right to deny the match.”
Graves grinned and a shiver ran down Tulah’s spine. “Even if he did, what difference would it make? We both know this marriage is a mere formality.”
Daniel flicked a glance in Tulah’s direction and pressed his lips together. He said nothing more, but his irritation wasn’t difficult to discern. Tulah held still, barely daring to breathe. The tension in the room climbed, and she knew her presence was the only thing that held Daniel’s words back.
The soft ticking of a clock only underscored the emotions swirling between the men. Tulah felt their irritation against her skin, a cold tingle that had her stiffening and straightening her posture. Drawing as little attention to herself as possible, she shifted to perch on the edge of her chair, poised to jump up and flee at the very next rise of hostility.
The door crashed open. Tulah nearly tumbled to the floor as her body jerked. All eyes swung toward the newcomer, Daniel and Graves jumping to their feet before they’d fully realized who had joined them.
Tulah was glued to her chair. Hope and fear, nausea and euphoria waged war within her stomach. Her lungs locked, her heart stuttered and she clamped her fingers around the padded arms of the wingback. She prayed, hoped and begged the gods that her Father would help her.
Muso was an imposing sight, though he’d aged since she’d last seen him. His expensive suit gleamed in the warm glow of the flickering fire, crisp and clean in spite of the long plane trip. His face was a study of harsh angles—his cheekbones impossibly high, his chin impossibly narrow—and the familial relationship between the Ngozi men was easily seen. Muso’s dark eyes gleamed with intelligence and stubbornness. He reeked of power.
He strode into the room with a dominating sense of ownership, naturally commanding attention and wielding authority. Tulah glanced at Daniel, but the Levy Father was calm and collected, as secure in his own leadership as Muso was. Daniel stood at ease with a small smile playing around his lips, his hand automatically rising to clasp Muso’s.
In stark contrast to Daniel’s comfort, Graves vibrated like a tuning fork. Muscles bulged under his lime green suit, his shoulders were rigid. Graves planted his feet and rested his weight on the walking stick, looking bored even as his body tensed further.
“Father Ngozi,” Daniel said, “I’m pleased to see you. I’m only sorry that I’ve just been informed of your arrival, or I would have sent for Constance to join us.”
“No need.” Muso kept his face still, betraying no emotion as his eyes slid past the Levy Father.
“And where is your wife?” Daniel struggled to chit-chat.
“I wouldn’t subject her to this pit of vipers.”
Pulling away from the welcoming handshake, Muso flicked his eyes toward Tulah, then took a step toward Graves, still insolently leaning against his stick. There was no warning but the raising of Muso’s hand before he slapped Graves across the face. Open-handed, as Graves would strike a woman.
The worst of insults to a Ngozi man.
Terror held Tulah immobile, stilling her breath, widening her eyes. The crack of Muso’s palm against Graves’ cheek reverberated like a gunshot in her skull. Her fingers did their best to burrow straight through the fabric covering the arms of her chair, her spine ached with the seizing of her back muscles.
Graves’ head followed the motion through, turning until his eyes met Tulah’s. She couldn’t look away as the black of his irises glittered with rage and offense. His gaze bored into hers as if she were the cause, rather than Muso. As if she would be the target of his vengeance.
And she knew she would be.
It was one thing for the Family Father to insult him. It was one thing for Daniel Levy, a man to whom Graves had been ceding some authority, to witness the offense. But for Tulah to see it was unacceptable. She knew she would pay a steep price for her presence in the sitting room, though Graves was the one who’d dragged her there.
Cold swept through her, sweat gathered in the small of her back. Her heart contracted, her belly squeezed into her throat. Then Graves narrowed his eyes and looked back to his Father.
Muso’s voice was deep, his accent thickened with thrumming rage. “I vowed to never set foot on this island again and yet I find myself back here.”
“Deepest apologies on behalf of all Englishmen.” Graves cocked his head. “I suppose I should welcome you to my home.”
“Home?” Muso sneered. He looked Graves up and down before spitting on the tip of the younger man’s shiny, white shoe. “Everything the Ngozis own is mine. You sold my home and bought a hotel, instead. You will be punished for disposing of my property.”
Graves’ jaw bulged, his knuckles going pale around the stick. His arms flinched and Tulah knew he was exerting great effort to keep from swinging the emerald at Muso’s face. “It’s an investment.”
“It’s a disgrace, just like you.”
“I’m sure you’ll find your accommodations more than adequate.”
Daniel stepped smoothly into the fray. “Father Ngozi, perhaps you’d like to see your suite? I’ll take you there myself, and you can continue your…conversation with Graves once you’ve settled.”
Muso looked at Graves as if he were something vile sliming the bottom of his expensive shoe. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”
“You and your entire entourage are on the top floor of the hotel, in the wing opposite the residing Family.” Daniel clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder and turned him toward the door. “I assure you, they are some of the best suites the hotel has to offer.”
Daniel launched into a description that would make any travel magazine proud. The soft closing of the door muffled his words as he led Muso away, but it didn’t latch properly and Tulah could still hear Daniel’s voice for several minutes after the men had gone.
She sat still and silent, wondering how to get out of the room before Graves exploded. Wondering how to leave without drawing his attention. For the moment, his dark, stormy eyes were locked on the door, his face twisted in a mask of rage. She was afraid to move and draw his anger toward her.
“Did you notice, Tulah, that Muso said not one word to you?”
Slowly enough that her thighs screamed in protest, Tulah rose to her feet. “I should leave you to…um… You’d probably like to talk things over with Charles, so I…” Her mind blanked. She couldn’t voice her need to leave before he erupted and, with Graves being as calm as he was, she knew an explosion was coming.
She took a step past the chair. Then another. Every muscle in her body hummed in warning, her nape prickled. She curled her fingers into her palm until she felt her ragged nails pressing deep into her own flesh. She fought for breath and took another step.
Graves hurdled the settee in a burst of energy. He used his stick like an Olympic pole vault, swinging his body over the scalloped back, but raising it high before his feet hit the carpet. Time slowed, dragging interminably, yet it moved too fast for Tulah to dodge the blow. Graves’ biceps bulged, threatening the seams of his hideous coat, and his wrist flicked with a violence she knew she’d never be able to match.
The emerald knob caught her in the ribs, digging deep. Pain flared, breath ripped from her chest. Tulah staggered, Graves struck out again. The stick came down on her spine as she spun away, a fresh wave of heat cleaving into her skin.
“Am I interrupting?” Adam Davenold stood in the doorway of the sitting room, his face impassive, his voice cold in spite of the murderous fury burning in his blue eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
Adam
It took everything Adam had to keep from launching himself at Graves. The man was a statue, the walking stick held above his head, his muscles knotted in preparation for the next blow
. Tulah was hunched over, her lips twisted against the need to cry out, pain paling her features and darkening her eyes. Adam barely looked at her, close to losing all control when he saw her at the edge of hers.
Davenolds treasured their women. They would not stand for the abuse of them. Adam, in particular, could not handle seeing another woman abused when he had the means to stop it.
“What do you want? As you can see, I’m in a private meeting with my Family member.” Graves lowered his arm but held the stick at the ready. Though he swept his savage gaze over Adam’s face, the Davenold man held tight to his impassivity.
Adam gave a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Door was open, couldn’t have been too private.”
“This property is mine in its entirety.” Graves’ voice deepened into a purr that had Adam’s muscles tensing, preparing for battle. “I could hold my meeting in the center of the fucking lobby and I would still expect it to be private.”
“Hmm, that’s not how my Family works. We have decorum.”
Graves spoke through gritted teeth. “You are a man who never gained his manhood. Ruled by the inferior sex. Tell me, what is it like to bend the knee to pussy?”
Adam forced a grin to his lips, ignoring the feel of its sharp edges. “What? You’ve never done that? I thought you swung both ways, Graves, but, hey, if you only go down for dick, I won’t judge.”
Graves’ face tightened, his body following suit. Fury was a sparkling halo around him, electrifying the air as his magic burst through his control. Pitiful. Magic was to be used, it should never be allowed to use the witch. Adam twitched his fingers, calling his own until it filled his palms like molten lava, held in check by the strength of his will.
Graves surged forward, lips twisting, spittle flying as he screamed. “Who the fuck are you to judge anyone? You are a weakling, a nothing. Ruled by women without the bollocks to stand on your own!”
“I am a Davenold.” Adam kept his voice low, but couldn’t keep the warning growl out of his tone. “I am a member of a Family that has been far more powerful than yours since the dawn of time. You may lead the secondary branch, but you are shunned, a disgrace to your Family. I am a man who wields great power in the primary branch, and the female I am ruled by happens to be the Council Sovereign. She rules you too, when it comes down to it.”
Graves’ jaw worked. Color swept his cheeks as his eyes sparkled with an emotion that would terrify all but the staunchest of souls. “Get the fuck out!”
Adam wasn’t intimidated. He was too well trained, too confident in his magic and with his fists to back down. He’d taken direct attacks from the former Lovasz Father, one of the strongest witches the world had ever known, and he’d survived. Graves was strong, but Adam was angry.
He told him so. “Only a weak man seeks to prove his power over a female already under his thumb. Only a man who’s trying to compensate for his own shortcomings would beat a woman as obviously defenseless as Tulah.”
“You will get out of my residence. You will leave immediately and not return.” Graves’ command was a mere whisper of impotent sound. Adam could see the other man’s struggle to hold still and not attack.
Adam smirked, just to poke the bear. “Are you sure your betrothed will let you do that? Even women under a man’s thumb have ways of wielding their own power.”
Insanity sparked in his black eyes as Graves swung out. Adam easily caught the stick before it made contact with his face. The magic he held in his palms itched until he let it go in a controlled burst. The stick grew hot, burning with invisible flames.
Graves flinched, his face tightening. His hand clenched around the shaft and Adam could hear the soft sizzle of skin. He watched as the other man fought back, felt a sweep of answering magic do its best to fly up the stick and wage war with Adam’s.
Enhanced with a quickly muttered spell, Adam’s magic was stronger. Just barely.
With a hiss that widened his nostrils, Graves wrenched the stick from Adam’s hold. He switched hands quickly as the magic faded and cooled. Smoothly done, but Adam knew Graves’ palm would be puckered with blisters.
Adam smiled without a single hint of hostility showing. “I’ll leave when I’m ready to leave, Graves.”
A clearing of a throat behind him had Adam spinning. Graves wasn’t given a chance to answer as Charles stepped over the threshold. “Muso has demanded a Family meeting. He wants every Ngozi present. I thought you would want to know immediately.”
Graves stiffened, growled, but didn’t look at Adam as he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him as he pushed Charles out into the hall.
Adam slowly turned to Tulah. Her long arms wrapped around her skinny body, her caramel eyes were haunted but not damp. She was holding herself together well. She stared at him as if he were an alien species, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of him. He liked that. Too many women in his life found him entirely too predictable.
A surge of protectiveness nearly floored him. Adam was ready to don his armor and saddle the white horse, something he did for no woman not of his Family. But looking at Tulah now, he had no regrets. No matter how difficult things might become, no matter how uncomfortable Graves made the Davenolds, he knew he’d done the only thing he could.
Tulah looked impossibly delicate. Vulnerable, but not weak. She was too strong for that, the strength of her will shining in her beautiful eyes. She looked like a woman who’d seen the worst of life, but had survived with grace and maybe even laughter. Adam would love to hear her laugh.
“Are you all right?”
The smallest wince crossed her features. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t come from a Family that allows abuse.”
“Because you’re matriarchal.” The way she said it, it wasn’t a question.
“Because we’re decent people.” He shook his head. “The Davenolds don’t abuse others. We fight, dirty or fair, I’ll admit, but we don’t strike people just because we can. Not our men, and definitely not our women.”
“Patriarchal witches are different.”
Again, he shook his head. “No, a bully is a bully and not all patriarchal men are like that. Eliasz Levy and Silviu Lovasz are two that come to mind, but I know many others cut from the same cloth.”
She bit her lips, dropped her chin. “Graves—”
“Is an equal opportunity hater.”
She nodded and looked away, examining the wall with more interest than it deserved. Adam took a breath. “Do you need to go to the Ngozi meeting?”
Tulah swung her eyes back to him, her gaze blank. He waited for his words to sink in, but when they did, she only shook her head. “I’m a female.”
“I noticed.” Adam took in her expression, evaluating her shock level. He wanted to keep her calm, maybe calm her further and drag her out of the thoughts darkening her eyes. “Where are the other women of your Family?”
Tulah shrugged. “I’m it. And my mom, but she’s…” Her chin lifted, a spark of life lit her eyes. “I’m it.”
Surprising information, not something Adam had expected. “You’re kidding. I mean, we wondered where the women were, but… You’re it?”
“The women of this branch have all been married off, except me, and none of the men have been allowed to marry.”
“Why not?”
Sadness washed over Tulah’s face until Adam had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. She took a shuddering breath. “Muso decreed twelve years ago that no man from this branch would marry without his permission. Graves stuck to it because it gave him a form of power, too, until he was betrothed to Constance without a word to the Father.”
“He’s breaking the rules?”
Tulah winced and stretched slightly, bending her torso at an awkward angle. “The rules don’t matter, when it comes to what Graves wants.”
“And he wants Constance?”
Tulah rubbed her side gently. “Maybe whatever she brings to the match,
but not her. He seems to like her well enough, but she’s…not really to his taste.”
“Hmm.” Adam moved forward, reaching for Tulah, no longer able to hold back. He let every other thought fly from his mind as she pressed her ribs and tightened her lips. “Where did he hit you? Show me.”
Something sly and excited slid through her eyes. In spite of the prickling at his nape, Adam put the odd expression down to her fear and suspicion of him. He conceded she had the right to be distrustful, after being hit by a man who was supposed to protect her. He could see the debate on her face as she watched him silently.
“The emerald caught me here.” She patted her side with two fingertips.
“Let me see how bad it is.” Moving slowly to give her time to deny him, he placed his hand on the small of her back. Heat tingled into his palm, the impression of her slenderness beat him over the head.
Adam took a deep breath and pulled the hem of her shirt up her torso. The material was thin, beginning to fray at the edge, no match for the autumn chill sinking its teeth into London. Beneath the fabric, he could feel delicate muscle and fragile bones as he fought to keep his touch light.
He gathered the shirt under her arm, just high enough to see the darkening skin, but not high enough to reveal her bra. Adam licked his lips and tried to get control over his desires. He didn’t know what it was about the tall, slender woman in front of him, but everything about her called to the very core of him, and a primitive beast within him demanded that he claim responsibility for her safety.
Gently, he dragged a fingertip over the bruise and heard her breath catch. “Did I hurt you, Tulah?”
“No.”
Adam watched her struggle to draw air. Her ribs stuck out too far, every bone delineated. He wondered when the last time she’d eaten a decent meal had been. He had a sudden impulse to fetch her the biggest breakfast the kitchen could offer.
He dipped his head to the side so he could look at her back. A narrow stripe angled over her too-visible spine. She made a noise as he traced the mark and sank his magic into her, willing it to heal whatever it could.